procrastination prompts

[bedlamsbard]

Wow. I can't believe my mindset is currently at, "If I can't have all this crap packed in an hour, I don't deserve to live."

Again: I cannot possibly need all these clothes.

Also: I cannot guarantee when or if any of these will be written, but I'll take prompts for commentfics becauuse I really am just in that sort of mood. (And because for some reason they're easier to concentrate on than, uh, actual fic.) Narnia only, please.

Comments

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

You're right, you really don't need all those clothes. You seriously don't.

Prompt: Edmund, he doesn't really need all those clothes

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

"This is ridiculous," Peter says, face set and pale. Edmund agrees, though he doesn't say it.

His closet is the size of his room in Finchley. Peter's is the size of their house in Finchley, or at least it looks like it.

"Why do we need all this?" Edmund asks plaintively.

The little faun makes a flailing motion. "But, your majesty!" she exclaims. "For high court, and low court, and hunting, and formal occasions from high to low, and --"

"I can't use them all for the same thing?" Peter says desperately. They've been on this tour of Cair Paravel for the past five hours now, and he's starting to look a little frantic and trapped around the eyes. Most of what they're hearing is being aimed at him, not Edmund, so he supposes he's gotten off lucky.

"Of course not!" the faun says, and the leopard that's been tailing them snorts almost silently to herself.

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

<33333333333

I am celebrating my first few days in NYC by CATCHING A HORRIBLE COLD. UGH, new places and new routines, SO DISCOMBOBULATING, especially with a nose full of flu juice. Trapped around the eyes, we all of us are.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Oh no! Get better! At least you haven't suddenly had a whole country thrown in your lap (like some people we know, a.k.a. PETER).

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

Slowly but surely I am. Thanks :). And yeah, man, no one should have to shoulder the BUTTLOAD of angst and woe Peter Pevensie does.

[almostinstinct.livejournal.com]

Edmund, bored

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Now he knows how Peter felt before they'd left for the professor's house.

He remembers it all in an odd, distant sort of way, as if England Before was a dream, or perhaps a memory of a dream, but Narnia is only marginally clearer. He remembers, but only fleeting blurry impressions. Narnia is real, Narnia is his -- Narnia is theirs -- but it's nothing more than a memory, some parts gone soft with age, others crystal clear and sharp as dwarven steel.

Peter he remembers, in England and Narnia alike. He's not as restless as his brother, because no one can match Peter in his chosen pursuits, but he's damn close. He's constantly on edge, looking over his shoulder for an enemy that isn't coming for him -- but then again, all of England is on edge. And when he's not waiting, he's dreadfully, painfully bored. He wants a war to fight, a peace to negotiate, an emissary to eviscerate -- literally or metaphorically. Instead there's nothing except Lucy's tears and Susan's tight silences, the brutal pace Peter sets for himself when he vanishes before the dawn. Edmund tries to fit himself into the wreckage of their component parts, but sometimes the pieces can't be put back together, so he's left waiting and wanting.

I want to go home, he almost says a dozen times, but the words die on his lips.

[saturns-hikari.livejournal.com]

Clothes are the hardest thing! There's the stuff you *always* wear and then the stuff you wear on occasions, the nice things, the things you *might* wear if the opportunity comes up, and then the stuff you never wear but should bring *just* in case because you never know- you could desperately *need* that 1930's black floor-length ball gown with velvet lace applique!

Prompt: lampshade and Pevensie sibling banter!

[franceica.livejournal.com]

Yes, clothes are always hard to pack. Majority of what you bring may not even be useful once you reach your destination. But when you pack, you still want to get them in. It is strange like this.

And the prompt: Caspian caught in a Golden Age royal bantering? (You know, I have been dying to see your Caspian in Golden Age fic, so I have to give a prompt about it)
Or Peter and Edmund and a hunting trip?
Or maybe the first moment the New Narnians realize Oh Shit, he really is the High King?

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

For a long time (or a short time), Peter seems to be only Peter. The High King is something out of myth and legend; the Narnians acknowledge him as such, but it very nearly becomes a joke, just a newly discovered piece of a puzzle which has been lost in the mists of time.

He is a human, of course. There has not been a human that sided with Narnians for some centuries now. This is a mark against him. Perhaps an unfortunate one, but old prejudices cannot be erased entirely. He's a human, and worse, a young human, less than a man, barely more than a boy.

This changes when another old rivalry -- more or less pushed aside for the duration, but prejudices never die -- flares up. A young centaur and a grizzled minotaur are at each other's throats, screaming vile imprecations about wars a thousand years dead, and the rest of the army is frozen, unwilling to get between them. They make up the heavy cavalry and heavy infantry of the army, and are both fierce, angry warriors.

Peter shoves his way through the crowd of centaurs and minotaurs, some shouting for a fight, others trying to discover the best way to find a way to end the conflict before it progresses any further, and grabs Suchin and Rainstall by the arms, forcing them apart. Both Narnians dwarf him, but Peter's face is fearless, his expression sharp and annoyed.

"For the love of the Seven," he snaps, naming gods that haven't been worshipped for the better part of a millennium, "it's no fucking wonder the Telmarines conquered you; you were all too busy trying to destroy each other. Try it around me and I'll string you up for treason during war time. I don't give a damn what quarrels you're fighting over, even if I'll bet good Narnian suns that I remember them and you don't, but don't even think about bringing them up around me, because I don't care who started it. This poor excuse for an army needs every soldier it can get, but that doesn't mean I'll tolerate any of this. End it. And the next person who tries it I'll string up."

He shoves Suchin and Rainstall away from him in opposite directions, and they actually both go, and Peter glares viciously around at the army before storming off.

No human would do that. No Narnian would do that. But Peter doesn't even blink.


(original inspiration from realpestilence)

[franceica.livejournal.com]

Oh you wrote it!

Sorry I haven't been visiting as often as I did. Work's kind of busy, *facepalm*

For a long time (or a short time), Peter seems to be only Peter.

He does seem so, doesn't he? At least when he so naturally does manual labour(like, say, row the boat?) for everyone else's benefit, lead the road too stubbornly, the new Narnians might've never imagined or convinced that this is indeed that High King of their legend.

But the confrontation with a centaur and a Minotaur, and he does it so naturally, that surely prove to the new Narnians that Peter isn't all what he appears.

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

I am so shocked that no one has commented on Peter rowing the boat, because seriously, the High King of Narnia is doing manual labor when he could be (should be?) showing off for his new subjects. Where is the fic where Trumpkin makes some mocking, derisive comment about it and Peter just arches an eyebrow, bemused, while Edmund snorts under his breath and Susan shakes her head.

(I like Trumpkin, I do. It's just that I think he and all the rest of the New Narnians, including Caspian, are so far in over their heads it's a shock they haven't come out in friggin' China. Or Edan or Masongnong, as the case may be.)

I think if the New Narnians were to ever figure out exactly who and what Peter is -- and they get a glimpse in the battle -- they'd have to flee in terror. Because Peter the boy became a mask a long time ago, and if you wear a mask long enough you can start to believe it's truth, but it's still just a mask. And when the mask slips...

*cough* My Peter is not right in the head by anyone's standards.

[franceica.livejournal.com]

I am so shocked that no one has commented on Peter rowing the boat.

Yes.
I have been wondering about that for a while, too. I always thought that from the wondrous land of fanfiction, there ought to be someone out there that will make a fic out of this, or at least mention/discuss this in a fic. But surprisingly, I find none. It could still be because I have not read every single fanfiction about PC, yet; but I still feel that I am surprised.

Yes, they are going to run screaming if they ever get to see what High King Peter (and King Edmund and Queen Susan and Queen Lucy as well, of course) is like during the Golden Age. Exceeds their wildest imagination, possibly. Caspian will be so damn shocked. Not that he isn't already(I think the Pevensies give him enough fright during PC period).

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

The only reason I haven't mentioned it is because I haven't found an appropriate place to do so yet. If you were wondering. (Wow, I sound narcissistic. *headdesk*)

There's a reason I wrote "In Constellated Wars"...and that's barely scratching the surface. Peter's a king, and a good one, and that they know or can guess, but all they know comes from legends. Legends lose so much -- and the Narnians are going to underestimate Peter and Co. even more because they look so young.

[westingturtle.livejournal.com]

If you're coming back for Thanksgiving or Fall Break, try not taking that much in the way of winter clothes. Sweaters are bulky.

Narnia victory party, either in the field or back at Cair Paravel.

The big old state wedding of Peta and Caspian (for the people!) or Peta having to do some traditionally queenly duty.

apparently "wedding" translated into "wedding night"...

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

"Come to me," Peta says, a wicked glint of promise in her eyes, and Caspian crosses the room in three long steps, gathering her up in his arms and kissing her.

"I understand we have to destroy this dress," she says at last, a little breathless, "which I, for one, will find a relief. I despise skirts."

"But you look beautiful in them," Caspian points out, cupping her breasts in his hands and enjoying Peta's little murmur.

"Impractical, expensive, flimsy -- Protector's tits, Caspian!" she shrieks as he rips the front of her dress down the center, leaving her bare to the waist. He skims a hand over the slight curve of her stomach and kisses her neck.

"It's tradition," he murmurs against her golden skin, soft as Galman silk. "At least we don't have to do it in front of witnesses any more."

"We have to save something for tomorrow," Peta mumbles as he pushes her against the wall, bundling her skirts up tidily around her waist. "If you're going to destroy the dress, do it, don't just pussyfoot around," she says, ripping one of her sleeves off, then hooks her fingers in the front of his tunic. "What about you? Do I get to tear your clothes off too?" and practically shreds the fabric in her hand as she drags Caspian toward her.

She pushes the remnants of it off his shoulders as Caspian peels the remains of her dress off in long strips of scarlet silk and then helps her shed the rest of his clothes. They end up on the bed, Peta spread open and willing beneath him, wanton and eager.

My wife, Caspian thinks, a little awed by it. Their promises to each other are inked onto their skin in the fashion of old Telmar, an intricate tracery of flowing calligraphy in shades of red barely darker than their tans. Only the hints of it are visible when they're fully clothed; only the other is ever meant to see its extent, never to be revealed until the wedding night.

"Lion's mane," Peta whispers, reaching up for him. "You're beautiful."

"You're beautiful," Caspian says, hesitating over which part of her to touch first.

Peta touches the line of curving letters along his collarbone, fingers light and certain, and runs her hands down his arms to the words circling his wrists. I give to you the strength of my heart, the protection of my body, the keeping of my honor, and the promise of my life. Into your care I give these gifts, that you may hold them until we both pass into eternity and the gods greet us in the houses of victory.

Caspian is trembling with the effort of holding himself up on his elbows, but he'd gladly stay here forever. Peta's hands glance over the three columns on his chest -- I will love you until it is beyond the ability of my soul to do so, I will honor you as I honor the gods in their temples, I will protect you so long as there is breath in my body in and life in my heart -- and slide across the wider belt around his waist, down the lines painted on his legs until she reaches up to run her hands around the intricate curving patterns on his back.

"Come to me, Caspian," she whispers, and he reaches down to kiss the runes on her collarbone, her breasts, tracing down in a line across her belly curving to circle her waist. The design is Narnian rather than Telmarine, a little more sinuous, something else about it so subtly exotic and foreign Caspian can't name it. The words are Old Narnian, runes and letters both; he can't read either.

"What do they say?" he asks, the words fluttering against the curve of Peta's belly.

She draws him back up to kiss her. "I love you," she says.

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

*stares at you*


Well...any of the *previous* prompts I prompted your prompt call with that haven't already been written up would be fine! *laughs*

er, I don't think you requested this, but -- warsverse background, *not* warsverse

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

The first time Edmund sees his brother in a week, it's to the realization that Peter looks like hell. He's gaunt, his hair is mussed, there's three days worth of beard on his face, and his pupils are blown wide.

"Aslan's mane," Edmund breathes, grabbing at him, and Peter goes limp in his arms.

Peter outweighs him by two stone, so Edmund goes down with him, sitting awkwardly on the floor with Peter sprawled against him. There's a sharp stab of desire that Edmund bites down on, because he knows the feel of Peter from sparring, from growing up together, from bloody wounds and desperate victories. From last week, Peter cradled between his thighs, his mouth on Edmund's neck, the two of them moving together as fire burned around them and Narnia stirred curiously in the back of Edmund's skull, content for the moment to wait and watch.

"Peter," he says desperately, hearing the terror in his voice, because if they lose Peter -- for whatever reason --

Peter's hands come up to cup his face, and Edmund finds himself staring into his brother's mad eyes. "God, Ed," he says, and he sounds mad, like any trace of his sanity has left him entirely. He's shaking when he adds, "I can't -- I can't get her out of my head, Ed, I don't know how to --"

He stops abruptly, and before Edmund can say anything Peter's mouth is on his, graceless and desperate. He's opening his mouth to speak when Peter kisses him, though it's less a kiss than a smothering, and he kisses Peter back automatically, even though he's already trying to push Peter away. But Peter is Peter, even mad and possessed, and Peter keeps his grip on Edmund and somehow gets them sprawled over the floor, Edmund suddenly bracing himself on his knees and elbows between Peter's spread thighs.

He freezes, and Peter says, "Ed, please, I don't fucking remember who I am." And he sounds flatly terrified, and Edmund's still frozen, because they'd sworn never to talk about this again.

But they aren't talking at all, and Edmund shifts his balance and presses the palm of his hand to the center of Peter's chest as he leans down to kiss him. Peter arches up to meet him, and all Edmund can taste is fear and the promise of madness.

Re: er, I don't think you requested this, but -- warsverse background, *not* warsverse

[realpestilence.livejournal.com]

Holy crap, I just woke up and found *this*. Now I have to go to work and think about it...I'm torn between glee and frustration. *laughs*


But yes-this rings very, very true to what we've been talking about. Edmund's had that alien presence take him over during the ritual, so he knows something of what Peter's dealing with; and poor Peter...being bonded to the land could never be an easy or simple thing, at the best of times. He has no one to teach him what to expect, or any of the knowledge that centuries of tradition and experience allowed the former Kings to accrue for enduring this. No wonder some of the Kings with the closest bonds went mad!

And YES, to the inconvenient, uncomfortable, but very *there* desire that would *have* to flare up at times. There's no way they'd be unaffected by either the ritual *or* the memories of how it felt...


*clutches you*


Gah! I'm running late, but it's worth it! *flees*

Re: er, I don't think you requested this, but -- warsverse background, *not* warsverse

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

Don't be late! Run, realpestilence, run!

See, I don't think of this as warsverse canon, because in my head Peter ran off to kill things immediately after the ritual, and then possibly he went insane for a little while and/or there was a crisis so he never noticed he was going insane. I am torn between making it a big dramatic thing and such a gradual fall that no one, including him, notices that he's lost a little bit (or a lot) of himself until he's really fucking insane.

*cough*

But yes -- Peter's going out of his mind, and he's scared to death, and he's barely holding on by any definition of the word. And Narnia's latching onto him because there's no one else and there hasn't been, not for a long time. It's a wonder that he doesn't go mad, and I think if he ever found out how many of Narnia's kings did -- and I bet most of them did, to a greater or lesser extent (and the worst isn't the kings that killed themselves, but the ones that did horrible things in Narnia's name and thought they were doing her well, because sometimes the bond doesn't help at all) -- he'd be even more terrified than he is now, and that's saying something.

*ponders*

The other bit that's been stuck in my head is this: "Edmund turns his head and catches Peter's eye; for that heartbeat alone, he sees the naked desire in his brother's eyes, then Peter looks away fast, scarlet rising in his cheeks." Completely unrelated to this, but there you go. *curtsies*

Re: er, I don't think you requested this, but -- warsverse background, *not* warsverse

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!
zomg zomg zomg
well-written peter/edmund: NOT ENOUGH OF IT. you pretty much have to write jadis!peter NOW.

Re: er, I don't think you requested this, but -- warsverse background, *not* warsverse

[bedlamsbard.livejournal.com]

I just really wanted to write slash, and Caspian's...Caspian. And one of these days I shall have to write angry Peter/Caspian. *cough* Er. Thank you?

*scowls* I don't remember where I left off. And I don't remember what post it was, either, so I can't go look it up. And it's not on my computer anywhere, because that was before I started putting commentfics in KeyNote.

*offers teeny bit of Peter/Edmund instead*


When he wakes up, back aching from the stone floor, it's to find Peter beside him, face down in the tangle of blankets he's pulled off his bed. Edmund pushes himself up on one elbow, staring at the bruises on Peter's back, palm prints and fingerprints that are still dark and ugly.

He didn't put them there.

There are more bruises on Peter's arms and thighs, and for the life of him, Edmund can't remember if they were there last night or not. They're too small to be from his hands.

"Pete," he says, quiet and reluctant, since he doesn't want to wake his brother up but he has to.

Peter's eyes snap open, fingers clenching as he reaches for a knife that isn't there. A moment later he winces, but when he looks at Edmund his eyes are -- marginally -- saner.

Re: er, I don't think you requested this, but -- warsverse background, *not* warsverse

[lassiterfics.livejournal.com]

Ahaha, you're welcome and THANKS SOME MORE. If it got lost in the flailing of my comment, what I meant to express is that I like the Peter/Edmund you wrote, which is cool, because I don't like a lot of the Peter/Edmund I read. I DO want to like it, though! Gah. Post-battle P/E, reaching out to wipe blood from the other's face. Minotaur blood tastes strange. Battle in the veins, the rarefied air cleansed of so much life. The clarity is fleeting; soon it is drowned by the buzzing of flies, the stench, the carrion birds. "I can't wait to go back to Cair Paravel," the High King mutters.

OR LIKE. Peter's study is locked but those secret passageways, you know? Edmund appears in his study like some ghostly apparition, 'cept not a ghost, just a brother, but Peter has grown used to it. "I wish you wouldn't do that," says Peter, not looking from treaties and maps and notes. "I am getting the distinct feeling you are just showing off." Edmund brings news from the North; his spies have sniffed out the seeds of insurrection. The brothers talk in low tones in the dim light, and Peter just raises his eyebrows and leans back in his chair, contemplating the map and juxtaposing the new information. "This changes everything," he says, and Edmund says, "Yes, I thought it might. Are you so hasty to judge my interruptions now?"
Peter says, not without a smile, "I still think you are showing off. Are you expecting a reward?" And because Peter has been poring over papers for hours, he says, "Let us share wine--" but when he turns his head, Edmund is gone.
What a show-off.
The High King returns to his work. Edmund will return when it is time. He always does.

OH PETER. I will make you sleep with EVERYONE.

[ineptshieldmaid.livejournal.com]

You're probably gone by now, but... *sympathy hug* and all the good luck stuff I said in my last comment :)

[swift-tales.livejournal.com]

Clothes are hell to pack, it doesn't matter where you're going. I hope you manage to pack everything and that you have a great time :p

Prompt: Doctor Cornelius talks to Peter about Telmarine Narnia legends and what's true and not true...